


Duality

by trufflemores



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 3.08, Angst, Friendship, Gen, The Brave and the Bold, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5799661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3.08. "You tortured that guy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duality

Oliver is right.

 _Y_ _ou're not in Central City_.

At first, Barry thinks he exaggerates. After all, Central City has its vices, but it's still a _good city_.  It's worth protecting. If Oliver's work is any indication, then his city is worth protecting, too.

Appearances support Barry's theory: Diggle is great, Felicity is easygoing, and Roy is immediately likable. The Arrow cave is awesome. The sushi is even better.  (Granted: everything tastes better on an empty stomach).

Everything about the city charms Barry. He's never actually _been_ to Starling City: he's visited twice under questionable circumstances, but those visits were brief.  Getting to spend more time with Team Arrow in Starling City is fantastic. It's a bona fide vacation.  Complete with killer boomerangs.

Besides, the opportunity to help Team Arrow solve a case is irresistible. After Bivolo, Barry owes Oliver that much.  Not that Oliver would ever admit it. The vigilante works alone – or, at least, he did, before Felicity and Diggle came into the picture.

Barry struggles to imagine Oliver's line of work without his closest allies. Fails. It would be like taking on Central City alone.

Even though Caitlin, Cisco, and Dr. Wells don't have super speed, they're invaluable to his life and work: they _are_ the team. Before Barry ever came into the equation, they were brilliant and cohesive, on a path for greater things. Together, it's like they're unstoppable. Nothing keeps them down for more than a few days, and every victory bolsters Barry's confidence that what he's doing with his life is exactly what he's meant to be doing.

He's a superhero. This is what superheroes do.

That attitude makes it easy to equate Oliver's line of work to his own. Barry protects Central City from people too dangerous for police to handle; Oliver does the same. Barry has great friends; Oliver has great friends. Barry has a unique skill set; Oliver has a unique skill set.

They make a great team. They have the best of Caitlin and Cisco's smarts coupled with the best of Diggle and Oliver's tactical abilities. Felicity and Barry round out the two cities because Felicity is _comfortable_ to be around: she keeps the entire space warmer, the whole city more welcoming. Makes Starling City feel more like home.

They're well-suited.

Barry trusts Oliver implicitly, wholly, unquestioningly.

So he takes orders and follows commands and generally complies with him perfectly. Granted, they're stoic: Dig and Roy don't reveal much, Oliver even less. Except maybe that he could crack rocks between his teeth with how hard his jaw is set.

Trying to lighten him up doesn't help – Barry feels the waves of annoyance radiating off him as he storms out of the room full of sedated mobsters.

It _should_ tip off an alarm that Oliver's rage doesn't die down, but Barry trusts his methods. Besides, their newest quarry is on the move: a man leaps out of his seat, on the run.

_Not fast enough._

Barry wants to ask Oliver if he's okay ( _why are you so upset?_ ), but he's Oliver. Oliver is fine.

So he cuts the man off. Grins. It's almost too easy when they don't have super powers. "My friend wants to have a conversation with you," comes naturally to him as he shoves him up against a wall. Oliver needs information. This guy has it. Barry doesn't even think, _Oliver kills people_ until it's too late.

"Go to hell."

Then there's an arrow protruding from the man's chest, his muffled screams filling the space. Barry staggers backward, unable to speak, too shocked to stand still.

Without hesitation, Oliver advances on the man, growling low in his chest. "The only thing that hurts more than an arrow going in," he shouts, taking the arrow in hand and twisting until it squelches, yanking an anguished groan from their quarry, "is an arrow coming out!"

Barry can testify to it, his ears ringing. "Whoa—hey," he says, hoping to project a calming influence on the room even though his heart is pounding. _You didn't have to shoot him, let's take things down a notch, no one needs to get hurt, Oliver, Oliver,_ Oliver—"What are you doing?"

"Getting information!" Oliver snarls. Doesn't even look at Barry. " _Where is he?_ "

The man's face contorts as Oliver wrenches the arrow in the socket, eliciting a tortured cry. " _I don't know_!" There's real anguish on his face.

Barry has to put a stop to this. He has to be the strong one. (Except _Oliver_ is the strong one and seeing him undone is _unnerving_. It derails Barry's argument when he tries to step in.) He falters, managing only a distressed: "But he said he doesn't know!"

Oliver doesn't flinch, saying in a deep, take-no-prisoners voice, " _He's lying_." He adjusts his grip and Barry's chanting _don't hurt him, don't hurt him, don't hurt him_ , but his feet will not move. He doesn't know what to _do_. "If you want to be able to raise your arm again," Oliver roars, " _tell me where – he –is!_ "

Barry's stomach hurts. He hates the helplessness, the panic, the _terror_. It doesn't sit right. It doesn't sit right at all. This isn't like Oliver. Oliver didn't shoot Barry with intent: he only shot him to prove a point. He wouldn't have killed Barry. ( _Unless he had to_. _Unless you weren't useful to him_.)

For the first time, Barry realizes that Oliver is capable of killing people.

Holding back, stricken, he watches the man hold up a cell phone, hand trembling, voice pleading. "Here, Harkness – gave it to me – it's encrypted," he warns, shaking with terror. Barry can't stop staring, wondering if he's watching the last moments of the man's life playing out, not knowing what he can do, should do, _dares_ to do. "I had an order ready for him," he adds feverishly, "I called, he came. I don't know where he is, I _swear_." Echoing in a whimper, he pleads for his life: " _I swear!_ "

Barry steps in.

He doesn't know exactly how he does it – instinct, probably – but he manages to put himself between Oliver and the man as Oliver holds the phone up, a strange look on his face. The mask makes his expression difficult to read and for the first time Barry hates that he gave it to him. _I helped you_ , he thinks, cold all over, sick to his stomach.

There's an arrow in the man's shoulder and Barry's hands are shaking, but the thought of Oliver getting near him again makes his head spin, so he whispers, "I'm sorry" and yanks it out as fast as he can.

There's yelling and Barry can't take it, he has to step back again, and Oliver pins the man against the chain link fence hard enough to rattle it when he dares to make a run for it.

 _Oliver!_ The word can't escape the lump in his throat. He just wants to say _let him go, let him go, please, please, please let him go._

This isn't right. This isn't how they do things.

They're supposed to be _heroes_.

"Take him to Detective Lance," Oliver says briskly.

Too chilled to speak, Barry grabs the man and grants his wish: they're off. At the station, he cuffs him to a stack of cabinets. Detective Lance startles, but Barry is gone before the man finishes giving the first tug on his restraint.

He wants to run home, to sweep up Caitlin and Cisco and tell them that they can't do this, Joe and Dr. Wells were right, _stay away from him_ , he's not a hero, he's not someone you should look up to or admire or _be like_ —

He hates that there are tears in his eyes.

By the time he reaches the warehouse, they're gone.

Oliver is still there. Examining the phone like nothing is wrong. Turning to look at Barry. Announcing their find in a calm, steady voice. "Felicity can crack the encryption," he says, sounding exactly like the Oliver Barry knows even though there is _heat_ in his chest over how _wrong_ this is. "Use this to track down Hearkness."

_It's not worth it._

The words come out before he can stop them. Before he even tries to stop them. "You tortured that guy."

There's a moment of humanity when Oliver hesitates and looks at the floor. Then he says without flinching, "I interrogated him."

A soft, pained scoff slips past Barry's lips. This isn't real. This can't be happening. This isn't _Oliver_. ( _It is and always has been_.)

He's shaking his head, trying to come to terms with it. Bracing himself on things he can trust.

"When my friend said your tactics made you a criminal, I defended you because I thought you were supposed to be a hero."

Oliver looks hurt. _Good_ , Barry thinks savagely. Anger is easier than pain. (Anger is always easier than pain.)

"I thought we were supposed to be better than them," he says, aiming as low, as central as he can. Hoping to prove that this isn't Oliver, that it's a moment outside of him, something apart from what Barry knows and trusts.

 _Stop lying to yourself_.

Oliver saves him the trouble of having to prove it to himself. "Barry," he says, cool, calm, "you live in Central City." His expression brightens; it doesn't reach his eyes. "Where it's sunny all the time and your enemies get _cute_ nicknames."

Barry thinks about how Oliver reacted the first time he mentioned meta-humans. He dismissed it as one of Oliver's grumpier quirks. Right now, he wishes he had taken Oliver's grit a little more seriously, that he'd seen the signs and added them together instead of justifying them away.

 _He shot you with two arrows_.

Barry healed, but he could still _feel_ it, and he should have remembered it. He should have learned it, internalized it, accepted it.

Oliver killed people.

He had the capacity to kill.

And he also had the capacity to torture.

Looking at him, Barry doesn't recognize him. His voice is forceful and low, the same as it was with their target, as he says, " _You're not in_ Central City."

Oliver gets loud; Barry gets quiet. "Yeah," he says, torn between fear and disgust.

Without giving him a chance to respond, Oliver steps forward, more heated with every step. "I live in a city where my best friend was murdered, where a woman that I loved was shot full of arrows and sent tumbling off a rooftop, where _my mother_ was murdered right in front, so before—"

He's up to shouting. Barry cuts him off with the only ammo he has: "My mother was murdered in front of me, too." It's weird, disconcerting, how the more agitated and explosive Oliver gets, the calmer and more sedated Barry becomes. It's the lightning at work; sometimes it induces strange moods. _Healing_ moods, when he's recovering from a broken wrist or rib. Something like physical meditation.

The shock of seeing Oliver torture someone draws it out, smothering everything else; a shock blanket, settling between him and reality. Insulating him from the storm. Making it possible to say why it's _wrong_.

He shouldn't say it, has no right to say it, but he has to. Someone has to try. He has to believe it isn't Oliver. Has to. _Has to_. "But I don't use my personal tragedies as an excuse to just _torture_ whoever pisses me off."

Oliver's smile bares his teeth, more snarl than anything. "Well, I'm sorry, Barry," he says softly. For the first time, Barry feels afraid when he steps closer, close enough to put another arrow through him, if he so chose. Except Barry's fast – _I'm safe, he's not dangerous, stop thinking about it_ —and Oliver can't stop him if he needs to run.

_Don't run._

He needs to stand his ground. So he does.

"I'm not as emotionally healthy as you are," Oliver finishes in a deadly whisper.

Something about _emotionally healthy_ aggravates him. Snaps him out of his stupor. "What's wrong with you?" he demands, not letting Oliver make a quick, clean escape. He can't just – _do this_. Torture a guy and walk away from it. Like it doesn't affect him. Like it doesn't change him.

Something snaps in Oliver, too, as he projects loudly, promising to make good on his words. "When we agreed that you were staying," he thunders, a low, building rumble, edge-of-a-storm, "we decided that it would be on _my terms._ If that is proving too difficult for you, you know your way back to Central City."

It's too difficult. He wants to go home.

But he can't forget the episode ever happened.

When Oliver walks out, Barry stays, frozen, until the memory of tortured screams drives him out. He hears them when he runs, no matter how fast he runs, and when he reaches the Arrow cave he thinks, _Get Caitlin and Cisco and get out of here_.

But he can't – because everything about _this?_ Is normal. Felicity, Dig, Roy – Lyla. All of them are utterly nonchalant, operating as a cohesive unit, unaware of the things Barry and Oliver _have done_. Caitlin and Cisco still trust Oliver like Barry trusts – _trusted_ – Oliver. The lump in his throat is so thick it hurts.

He doesn't really hear what any of them are saying, opting to sit at the base of the stairs instead, as far out of sight as he can be. His head hurts, his stomach aches, and he can't look at his own hands without thinking, _I put him in a trap_.

He never pulled the string back and let the arrow fly, but he prevented the man from escape. He handed him over.

It's – a lot to process, to say the least.

He folds himself into the Speed Force, letting it ground him. Their conversations evaporate, replaced by a growing sense of calmness as he thinks about what happened. What he would have done in Oliver's position. Except it just never _clicks_. He couldn't have pulled the string back if he tried.

There's a growing sense of despair welling in him, but he tries not to let it eat him alive. It's over. It's done. Oliver made his choice. Barry made his.

It's over. It's done.

The mantra helps him calm down, bringing him back to a place where he can be useful. He's still processing. Trying to figure out his next move. But at least he can separate himself from his emotions long enough to get the job done.

When they pinpoint Hearkness' location, Barry rises to his feet. He has to do something. He has to be useful. Crossing the no man's land, he steps into Team Arrow's circle. Into Oliver's space.

Oliver looks at him and Barry sees something like _regret_ there, feeling the subtle but profound shift from annoyed rage to quiet mourning.

It's a lot to process.

 _I trusted you_ , he thinks. _I need to be able to trust you, Oliver_.

Oliver looks meditative, like he's used to managing pain and pretending it doesn't actually exist. Barry wishes he knew were half as efficient.

But even if he doesn't know where they stand, the atmosphere is stifling underground. He needs fresh air. He needs to do something _good_.

Which is why he disarms the men before Oliver can even get his bow up. He stands back to let Oliver survey it. His point is proven: _No casualties_.

Then Oliver puts an arrow in a man standing directly _behind_ Barry.

Barry's heart pounds, shock and surprise threatening to overbalance his fragile hold on stoicism. "I – knew he was there," he says, faltering, because part of him is scared and part of him is grateful. Worry surges to the forefront, prompting him to ask, "He's not – dead, right?"

"Tranq arrow," Oliver replies. Barry's shoulders relax, some of the tension easing out of him. "Same thing I used on you in Central City."

That was a special kind of hangover, but he deserved it for turning Oliver's chest into a creative modern art exhibit entitled _purple and blue_.

Feeling a little less stressed and significantly more familiar with _this_ side of Oliver, Barry steps towards them. It's eerie, how easy it is – surely Hearkness isn't stupid enough to think ten men can take them down.

"Cisco has the van running," Diggle announces, ready to back them up. Barry feels calmer, knowing he's there. _You don't know him, either. Not really_. Pushing the thought aside – willing something in his world to be normal – he listens closely.

"I see you met Hearkness' hired muscle," Roy adds.

Oliver speaks with a visible effort. "Hearkness isn't here." Looking down at a man, he barks, "Hey! Where's Digger Hearkness?"

"Never met him," the man replies. Nonchalant. "But he paid us ten g's to give you this." He holds up a phone.

 _Misdirect_.

He exhales, frustrated, discouraged. _Dammit_.

"Ten'll get you twenty that belongs to Hearkness," Diggle says. Calm. Cool. Familiarly steady.

"What does that mean?" Curiosity colors Roy's tone.

Frustration colors Barry's. "It means Hearkness played you," he says stiffly, advancing towards Oliver. They need to _talk_ about this, to address the fact that Oliver bursts into buildings and takes down people just because of their supposed association with a wanted criminal. Collateral damage has always been important to him; he thought it was important to Oliver, too.

_Clearly not._

Then Oliver says, "He's going after Lyla." His voice is fast, agitated. "We have to get back to the warehouse _right now_."

Even though he's frustrated, Barry thinks about offering him a lift. Oliver's heavy, but he could do it. Should do it. Oliver and he can handle Hearkness. It's the best course of action.

But Oliver hops on his motorcycle without a word, tearing across the streets. Barry considers overtaking him. _We're a team; let me help you_.

Instead, he looks around the room, confirming everyone is still secure, and takes off.

It's halfway across the city and Barry gets lost, arrives late, trailing in after Roy and Cisco, Diggle and Oliver in the lead.

The silence in the room is enough to confirm Barry's worst fears.

"Lyla," Diggle breathes, and for a moment Barry's terrified.

( _She's not dead – right?_ )

"I've got her stabilized, but I can't operate on her here," Caitlin says.

Barry exhales. Diggle looks at him, says, " _Barry_." And Barry knows he would walk across fire for that voice, for Diggle's friendship.

"Starling General's on eighth and Wolcott," Oliver tells him briskly.

The command centers Barry. He scoops Lyla into his arms and is gone.

 _Please don't die_ , he chants, _please, please, please don't die._

He gets her to the hospital, gets her settled, waits until Diggle arrives, tells him what he knows. He wants to stay, to support Diggle, to offer any consolation he can, but it's too much. He's never been a fan of hospitals; it's suffocating standing in the ER, pandemonium and pain pressing in on him.

"I'm – I'm sorry," he says, feeling sick, but Diggle just clasps him painfully hard on the shoulder.

"Go," he commands.

Barry obeys.

. o .

Caitlin, Cisco, Roy, and Felicity head out for drinks.

Barry lingers in the shadows near the stairs, too rattled to join them. He pulls Caitlin and Cisco into separate hugs, holding them a little more tightly, a little longer than usual. _Please be safe_ , he entreats them.

He doesn't even want to think about what it would mean if either of them were to get hurt. Finally sees that it's possible in Starling City.

 _It's possible back home, too_.

He knew it, but he hadn't experienced it. Hadn't fully grasped the implications. Hadn't realized that _you could die out there_ doesn't just apply to the bad guys.

On his way out, Roy meets his eyes. The hard affirmation in his gaze is grounding, confident. Barry finally thinks he understands why this lifestyle hasn't broken him.

Roy's a fighter. He survives.

Felicity does the same, and even though they're all shocked, she still squeezes his hand in passing. _We'll be fine._

He chooses to trust Roy and Felicity. Trusts them enough to let them go. Trusts them enough to let their guard down in a city which isn't home, because it's home to Roy and Felicity, and they will be okay.

Then it's just him and Oliver.

. o .

Oliver asks for space. Barry respects it.

There's an indefinable emotion in the air between them, heavy enough Barry feels it press against him, keeping his distance.

Reprimands dissolve; speech fails him. Barry can't put any of it into words. It's too unspeakable.

_I'm sorry._

When at last the silence grows unbearably long, Barry steps closer. Close enough to pick up the anguish. The collapse.

The Oliver he knows.

Barry can't see him, but he knows he's on the verge of tears: it's palpable. Painfully so.

Sometimes he wishes that he wasn't so acutely aware of other people's emotions – that the Speed Force didn't connect him so intuitively to other people – but this isn't one of them. It helps him understand. Come to terms with it. Sympathize.

"This is all my fault," Oliver says. Even his voice hurts to listen to.

Barry can't stay silent, shaking his head even though Oliver can't see him. Won't look at him. Like he's afraid to acknowledge it; like he's ashamed of himself. All he says is, "It's really not."

"I tortured Markos to give up that phone," Oliver says slowly.

Barry thinks about it. About how sick it made him feel. How betrayed.

_How could you do that?_

_We're supposed to be better than them._

_This isn't right._

And in Oliver's voice, he finally hears it: _This isn't right._

"None of this would have happened if it wasn't for me," Oliver says.

It really hurts to listen to him. Barry isn't sure if he even wants to: if he prefers this Oliver, the remorseful, shattered one, or the stoic, immovable Oliver who can put arrows through people without flinching. At least the latter doesn't make his chest ache with sympathy. "I get the feeling you don't say that often," he says quietly.

"To do what I do, Barry, takes conviction," Oliver tells him. Turns to face him. Sees Barry nod. "But –" his voice trails off as he searches for the right words. Finally finds them and says simply, "more often than not, it's the will to do what's ugly."

There has to be an answer. Something Barry can save that will resolve all of it. Something that satisfies _how could you do this_ with _I'm sorry this happened_.

"Every time I do that, I'm—trading away little pieces of myself. So . . . you ask what's wrong with me, that's, _that's_ what's wrong. Because the part that I'm trading away . . . is Oliver Queen."

He's never heard Oliver speak so honestly. And it hits him, then.

_Your city isn't my city._

_My methods aren't your methods._

_Your losses are different than my losses_.

He doesn't – can't – will never know the degree to which Oliver has truly suffered. He has no idea what it felt like when Oliver's mother was murdered. He can't comprehend what it's like living in a city where it's possible for his best friend to be murdered, his former lover to be murdered, a friend nearly murdered after he followed the wrong lead. Barry understands suffering, but Oliver's suffering is not his suffering.

Oliver is right. They are different.

And he'll never really _know_ what happened to him.

Only what the aftermath is like. Who Oliver is _now_. Who Oliver got to be, in spite of it. Because of it.

Oliver doesn't speak with the confidence that he's used to, or the hard certainty. His voice is quiet. Hollow. Unmasked. "And lately I've been feeling like there is . . . nothing left except the Arrow."

Barry finally finds the words.

"I think you're full of crap."

The way Oliver looks at him is gratifying. He's surprised, but Barry knows he has his fullest attention. This isn't a one-sided conversation and Oliver is giving him a chance to _speak_.

Make it count.

"Look, you've convinced yourself . . . that everything you've been through took away your humanity. But I think it's _because_ of your humanity that you made it through."

 _You're not the same hero I am_.

_But you are a hero._

"You wouldn't have survived," he presses softly, " _Much_ _less_ come out the other end a _hero_ – somebody who wants to do good – if you didn't have a light inside of you."

He thinks about that rooftop, remembers how much he needed Oliver and Oliver was _there_ , and he sees that Oliver. He still exists. Barry was never wrong – he just didn't understand it all. _You're still a hero_.

_I forgot that because I forgot this was your life. Your city. Your world._

_But you are still a hero._

_And you still save people. You still protect a city worth protecting. You still live a life worth living._

There are footsteps and Barry senses her before he turns to look at her. "Sorry if I'm interrupting," Felicity says. "I ran facial recognition on Hearkness and we have a match."

There's a moment when Barry feels the role reversal. Where it's not him seeking Oliver's counsel and strength and courage; it's Oliver looking at him, _looking_ at him and seeing Barry's utter conviction, that enables him to nod.

To say, "Okay."

. o .

When the bomb doesn't go off, Barry feels like sinking to the pavement in relief.

"Everyone okay?" he asks.

Four shaky voices reply in quick succession.

Grinning a little, he exhales hard, releasing tension. Then he sprints for the station.

He's just in time to see Hearkness reach for his boomerang, Oliver putting an arrow through his hand to stop him.

Barry huffs. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"

Oliver smirks.

Cuffs him almost playfully on the shoulder and says, "Comeuppance."

. o .

Back at the Arrow cave, it's bittersweet.

Because home is Central City, but home is also _them_ , Roy and Felicity and Oliver. Home is the Arrow cave, home is putting on the suit, home is completing an objective and making the world a better place, one step at a time. Home is the way he feels safe in their company, the way he smiles when he's around them, the unique way their presence makes him feel.

Leaving takes a lot of will power. It would be easy to stay.

He likes leaning on Oliver. It's easy to rely on him, to listen to him, to trust him. It's also easier to have someone there if things go south; to have someone who he knows can guard his back. Someone whose decisions he can support and whose lifestyle he can admire, even emulate.

Someone who's complicated, and makes the wrong choices sometimes, too. Who's human enough to have doubts, concerns, fears. Someone who treats his friends well. Who smiles. Who listens to him, who leans on him, who acts sincerely.

Whatever choices he makes, Oliver never makes them without thinking about their consequences. And sometimes he chooses to accept consequences Barry wouldn't.

But they live in different worlds. And Barry just has to trust that Oliver knows his own world as well as Barry knows his.

It's easy to, knowing that Oliver still _is_ and always _has been_ a hero.

When he mentions the island, there's fondness in his tone. _Different worlds._ "We've got a pipeline, he's got a gorgeous tropical island."

"With the land mines," Felicity says.

Barry stares.

"It's a long story," she adds.

Barry can't speak, which is fine: because were he not so surprised, Barry would take a picture of Oliver's face. His blank expression is honestly priceless.

 _Your world, my world_ , he reminds himself, shelving it.

Then he sees the tall glass case at the end of the row. "What's this?" he asks, advancing towards it, heart beating a little faster in his chest.

"Oliver had me put that in while you guys were at the hospital."

Realization hits him hard. "Wait, this is for me?" He can already feel a smile coming on.

"Mmhm," Oliver says, watching him with what is clearly amusement trying not to be amusement, "for the next time you're in town."

Barry grins openly. "There'll be a next time?"

"I'm still calling the shots," Oliver warns.

"We'll talk about that."

"Yes we will," Oliver agrees smoothly, "and then I'll call the shots."

Barry laughs. He can't help it.

Then Cisco shows him the new suit they've got for him and the look in Oliver's eyes – wonder – is worth the whole trip, in and of itself.

Even if Caitlin's right and Dr. Wells is not going to be happy if he finds out they were chasing bad guys in Starling City on their own.

 _We weren't on our own_ , Barry thinks, looking around the room. _We had friends._

Roy asks if he's going to take the train – "If I need a nap" – but he's got unfinished business to handle first.

"You guys aren't going to punch each other, are you?" Caitlin asks.

Barry and Oliver share a smile without looking at each other.

. o .

"You could have invited everybody; they'd like this."

"No, they would have loved this, but this is just for the two of us," Oliver says. They're walking side by side in the warehouse, suited up, and it feels good. Like this is exactly how it's meant to be.

"You mean the one of you – this was your idea."

Oliver grins. "You can't expect me to believe," he says, "that you don't want to know, once and for all, who would win – me or you?"

"You mean if you don't shoot me in the back," Barry qualifies with a grin.

"You've gotta get over that."

Barry can't help his own amusement. It's a direct challenge and must be met, but _come on_. "Okay, I have super powers, you have arrows that run out."

"I have strategy and tactical awareness."

Barry deadpans: "When I'm fighting you, it's literally like you're standing still."

"Tough talk. You ready to back it up?"

"Oh yeah." _Born ready_. But then, because he can't resist, he says, "Hey, by the way."

"Yeah?"

"You were wrong." Oliver's eyebrows arch. There's an almost vulnerable look on his face. Like letting someone have fun with him is almost more trying that fighting alongside him. In a way, it is: it requires more trust, seeing the Oliver that isn't guarded. The Oliver he is with his friends, the Oliver Barry took for granted until he saw the Arrow in action. The Oliver he assumed was the same as the Arrow, but Barry isn't always The Flash.

And Oliver isn't always the Arrow.

"When you told me I could inspire people, you said you couldn't. But you were wrong. You can inspire." Then, qualifying the statement: "Not as the Arrow, that guy's a douche."

Oliver honest-to-God _giggles_.

And Barry thinks, _I am so, so glad I get to be your friend._

"But as Oliver Queen," he finishes, looking into Oliver's shining face, he's just so much more _him_ when he _smiles_.

And when he says, "Thank you," Barry can hear how much he means it.

"Since we're sharing," Oliver continues, "you were wrong, too."

Barry frowns, puzzled. "When?"

"Right now. Because you think you can kick my ass. I can tell."

He walks off, getting into position.

That deserves a retort, though, so Barry says, "Well, if you think you can kick mine, you better do it fast."

"I get it, Barry, I get it," Oliver says without slowing down or turning around, and Barry feels kind of like a kid because this is _so great_ , he's getting to show off and have fun with _Oliver_ , and he always thought it was the Arrow who he wanted to meet but it isn't true.

It's this guy.

"The Vigilante."

Vigilant means _to be watchful._ That's what Oliver does: watches over Starling City.

Just like Barry watches over Central.

They get into position, and the warehouse projects well, letting Barry hear Oliver's declaration loud and clear.

"Ready?"

"Set."

 _Go_ is the first arrow launching through the arrow, like lightning between them.

They're never going to be the same hero, and they're never going to fully understand each other.

But they're a team. And when it counts, it all comes together.


End file.
